User blog:Squibstress/Because It Is Bitter, and Because It Is My Heart - Chapter 18
Title: Because It Is Bitter, and Because It Is My Heart Author: Squibstress Rating: MA Genre: Drama Warning/s: Explicit sexual situations; non-con; character death Published: 05/06/2017 Disclaimer: All characters, settings and other elements from the Harry Potter franchise belong to J. K. Rowling. Chapter Eighteen Concerning Witches Who Copulate With Devils Minerva sat on the witness bench of the courtroom, not really listening as the hearing wore on and on. She was only here because Harry had asked her to be. She found that she didn’t really care much about the outcome one way or the other. Severus was dead, and whether he was remembered as a hero, a villain, or something in between would change nothing. As Harry Potter sat in the witness chair and described the events surrounding Snape’s death, Minerva thought back on that night. After the battle, she had moved silently through the Great Hall, accepting congratulations and dispensing thanks and condolences almost by rote, as she scanned the conjured beds and made mental inventory of the living and the dead. As always, she was expected to play her part—that night as leader of the battle—and in the aftermath, nothing had changed. Everyone else, it seemed, was permitted to search the grounds and hall for the faces of their dear ones, and to rejoice or grieve accordingly once they found them. Minerva McGonagall was expected only to react appropriately—oh, always appropriately—to the emotions of others without the luxury of showing her own. She had taken note of the faces as she walked the rows, just as she had taken attendance in her classroom. She saw Remus first and felt surprisingly little until she saw Tonks lying next to him, still, and realised their child would be yet another hapless orphan of yet another pointless war. She thanked her private gods that she would likely be long gone from Hogwarts before he became her responsibility. There was the Weasley family gathered around one of the beds, and she made an almost automatic calculation of heights to determine who was missing. One of the twins, she guessed after a moment. Oh, Molly, she thought and allowed herself no more than that. Little Colin Creevey—Detention, Mr Creevey, she thought absurdly, you were not meant to be here. When she had come to Rolanda Hooch, she almost didn’t stop. All that was recognisable of her dear, unsubtle, unsentimental friend was the compact build and spiky grey hair. When Minerva had realised who it was lying neatly on the bed, the one remaining eye open and unseeing, she suppressed the first tears of the evening. She knelt down and stroked the less damaged side of the witch’s formerly lovely face for a moment and bid her a silent farewell. She made a promise to herself to find Rosmerta—if she could be found—to inform her in person of Rolanda’s death. Minerva was aware that their on-again-off-again romance had been waning over the past year, but she felt a kinship with the de facto widow of her friend of more than twenty years; she could tell Rosmerta something of doing one’s mourning in private. Grief, like love, would be a secret and lonely pastime for both women. Minerva had realised, as she paced her vigil, that she was searching for Severus. She silently cursed herself for a fool; of course he would not be here among the honoured fallen. He was reviled here, and nobody would have troubled for an instant about his body. She would have liked to bring him in—to the only home he had known since he was a boy—but she didn’t know where he was, and anyway, nobody could be expected to spare a moment for Severus Snape, even if he had turned out to be Dumbledore’s man in the end, as Harry had claimed. In the event, it was Harry who prevailed upon her to have someone retrieve his body from the Shrieking Shack, and it was Harry who convinced her to help him try to clear Snape’s name officially a year later when the Wizengamot finally turned its attention to matters of posthumous guilt and innocence. When Harry had come to her with his phial of Snape’s memories, she was taken aback. She hadn’t known what he had, and when he showed up in the Headmistress’s office three months after the battle, requesting to use Dumbledore’s (now her) Pensieve to show her what Snape had given him, she was apprehensive. How much had Harry seen? The boy gave no indication that he knew what had passed between Severus and her over the months leading up to the final battle, although she had to assume he had heard about what Severus had done in the Great Hall that autumn, at least from Ginevra, who had been among the captive witnesses. She wondered what memories the boy had seen. She was relieved when she saw that Severus had only shown Harry the memories from his childhood and his exchanges with Albus. Her heart bled for him a little when she saw him cast the doe Patronus. She was angry at herself for being shocked again at how easily Albus had manipulated the miserable young man, turning his guilt and self-loathing to his own purposes. She had known almost forever how capable the great man had been in using those who had loved him in service of the Greater Good. It was almost funny: She and Severus had both seen it so clearly, despite being helpless to ignore the pull of Dumbledore’s power—and, yes, his love—yet Albus himself had been unaware. He had been an innocent in so many ways, she mused; his sometimes child-like behaviour was not just an act, as so many assumed. Minerva had then told Harry, omitting as many details as possible, about Severus’s decision to protect her the only way he could on that November night in the Great Hall. She thought Harry deserved as much of the truth as she could stand to tell. Harry, who had been so brave, now seemed so conflicted in his feelings about Severus Snape. And who wouldn’t be? she thought. To find the man who had openly loathed you for years, and who had murdered your surrogate father in front of your eyes had done it all because of an unrequited love for your dead mother and a promise to protect you—yes, that has to be difficult to swallow, she thought. The boy needed a hero and had discovered almost too late that Albus Dumbledore did not fit the bill quite as neatly as anticipated, so Severus was nominated to take up the slack. It was why Harry had knocked on her door, demanding to show her the memories he had saved. So she had agreed to testify, more for Harry’s sake than for Severus’s. Harry needed to be able to live with the aftermath of his war. Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard her name called. “Minerva McGonagall,” intoned Tiberius Ogden, who, by dint of age, experience, and connections, had been selected to head the Council on War Crimes. “Please come forward to give your testimony.” Harry Potter, as he left the witness chair, gave her arm a squeeze as she passed him to take the seat in the centre of the room. She looked up at the high bench and saw the familiar faces. Well, they should be familiar, she thought. She had helped place some of them on the newly reformed Wizengamot, even while she herself had declined a seat. She was cautiously glad that Tiberius Ogden was heading the Council; during the time they had both been on the Wizengamot in years past, she had found him to be imperious but intelligent and fair-minded. There was no sound as she took her place, not even the normally ever-present scratching of Rita Skeeter’s quill. When she was seated, Ogden said, “Please state your full name for the record.” In a clear voice, she gave it—her full name, the one almost nobody in the room knew: “Minerva Sigrid Aithne McGonagall Dumbledore.” A loud wave of murmurs erupted from the spectators’ benches. “Silence!” boomed Ogden. “Professor McGonagall,” Ogden started. “Er … or do you prefer to be called ‘Professor Dumbledore?’” he asked awkwardly. She could see him chastising himself for not determining that before the hearing. “No. McGonagall is the name I have always used,” she replied. “And you are currently Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, is this correct?” “I am Acting Headmistress, yes,” she corrected. “Very well. Professor McGonagall. It is the understanding of this Council that you intend to give evidence in the matter of Severus Snape, is this correct?” “Yes.” “And you give this evidence freely and of your own volition?” “Yes.” “Very good. We will proceed with our questions, and then you may have an opportunity to make a statement if you wish.” Minerva nodded. Ogden asked, “When did you first meet Severus Snape?” “September of 1971.” “This was when he matriculated at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?” “Yes.” “And what was your relationship with Mr Snape at the time?” “I was his teacher.” The questions continued in this vein for the next twenty minutes until they came to the day Dumbledore had hired Severus. “Did you discuss Severus Snape with Professor Dumbledore?” Ogden inquired. “Yes.” “And what did he tell you?” “That he was confident Severus had turned his allegiance from Voldemort,” she answered. “Did he tell you on what his confidence was based?” “Yes. He said that Severus had recognised that Voldemort was a madman when he killed James and Lily Potter.” “Did you agree with this assessment?” She hesitated. “Yes, I think I did.” “You think?” Ogden asked sharply. “I was not entirely certain, but I was aware of Severus’s feelings for Lily Potter, and it made sense that her murder might turn him from the Dark Lord.” “Were you aware of any other reason?” “No.” “So you accepted Dumbledore’s interpretation of the matter?” “Yes.” “Because he—Dumbledore, I mean—was your husband?” “No. Because, as I stated, it seemed logical, and because I believed Severus to be an intelligent if misguided young man, capable of seeing the truth of the path he had chosen out of loneliness and resentment.” “Were you in favour of Dumbledore’s appointing Snape to the Potions master position?” She paused before answering. “Not entirely. Severus was young and troubled. I was unsure if he would make a good teacher.” “Yet you publicly supported Dumbledore’s decision.” “Yes. I felt it was my duty as his Deputy, and ultimately, I trusted his judgement.” “And once Snape took up the position, how would you categorise your relationship with him?” “We were collegial.” “But not friendly.” “No, not precisely.” “Did you ever have cause to doubt Snape’s allegiances during the time you were both teaching at Hogwarts?” “No. Not until he killed Dumbledore.” “You were aware that others doubted them?” “Of course.” “And what did you make of it?” “I believed they were not in full possession of the facts, and that their feelings were coloured by Severus’s behaviour.” “And what was that?” “He was unpleasant.” “Was he unpleasant to you?” “At times.” “And this did not cause you to doubt his intentions?” “No.” “And why not?” “Because I am aware that words and actions do not always agree.” “Meaning?” “Meaning, Mr Ogden, that a nasty demeanour doesn’t necessarily signify an evil heart any more than a kindly demeanour does a beneficent one.” There were a few moments of silence before Ogden posed his next question. “But you came to change your mind about Severus Snape?” “Yes.” “And how did that come about?” “He killed Albus Dumbledore.” “Professor, you have heard Mr Potter’s testimony regarding Professor Dumbledore’s agreement with Snape regarding the latter’s role in his death.” “Yes, I have,” she answered. “I have also seen the memory of that conversation.” “Snape’s memory?” “Yes.” “Yet you were unaware of the agreement until Mr Potter told you about it?” “I was unaware of it until Severus showed me the memory himself.” “When was that?” “Last November.” “When he was Headmaster?” “Yes.” “And why do you think he showed you that memory at that time?” “He wanted to prove to me that he had not wanted to kill Dumbledore or to harm me.” “Why then? Why not right after the murder?” asked Ogden. “I believe he had promised Albus he would tell no one.” “Not even you—Albus Dumbledore’s wife?” “No.” “And Professor Dumbledore never said anything to you about the plan?” “No, he did not.” She was pleased at how strong and even her voice remained. “Why do you think he kept this information from you?” “He wanted to protect Severus’s position as a spy.” “Do you think he did not trust you with the information?” She was silent for a few moments, trying to maintain control of her emotions before answering. “I think he believed there was a possibility I might be captured by Voldemort’s forces, and that I would not be able to withhold the information under torture or Legilimency.” “Why did he believe you might be targeted by the Dark Lord?” “I was a member of the Order of the Phoenix, for one. And Voldemort was aware that I was Albus Dumbledore’s wife.” “And how did Voldemort come to know this? Did Snape tell him?” “No. Voldemort—Tom Riddle, as I knew him then—had been aware of it since before we were married in 1957. I had informed him of it.” “Why did you do that?” Ogden frowned. “Riddle and I were acquaintances. He had guessed at the nature of my relationship with Dumbledore and threatened to create a scandal.” “What kind of scandal?” “Albus Dumbledore and I were lovers. The school’s Board of Governors would not have taken kindly to the new Headmaster having a sexual relationship with one of his teachers.” There was more murmuring from the gallery, and the gavel next to Ogden pounded itself on the mahogany desk loudly, cutting off the noise. “So you told Voldemort … er, Riddle … that you and Dumbledore were going to be married?” “Yes. I thought it would diffuse the scandal.” “And did it?” “I don’t know. I don’t believe Tom actually ever told anyone about it.” “Why would he keep it a secret?” “I think he had more important things in mind than ruining my reputation. I also don’t think he was ready for an open confrontation with Dumbledore at that point.” Ogden paused for a moment and shuffled some parchment in front of him. “Turning back now to the night Severus Snape killed Albus Dumbledore, you maintain you were unaware of the agreement they had made to have Snape appear to murder your husband?” “That is correct. I didn’t know about it.” “And when you heard that it was Snape who had killed him, what did you think?” “What do you mean?” “I mean, Professor, did you come believe then that you had been wrong about Snape’s allegiance to Dumbledore?” “Yes. It seemed obvious.” “And how did you feel about Severus Snape after that?” “I hated him.” “And after the Ministry of Magic had fallen to the Dark Lord, and Snape was appointed Headmaster of Hogwarts, why did you agree to stay on as Deputy Headmistress?” “I believed I could protect the students from him and from the Carrows.” “This would be Amycus and Alecto Carrow, the Death Eaters whom Snape appointed as Defence Against the Dark Arts and Muggle Studies teachers, respectively?” “Yes.” “And were you at all concerned for your safety at this time?” “Of course, we all were. But you’ll recall that none of the teachers or staff left their posts,” she replied with a hint of pride in her voice. Filius Flitwick smiled at her from the high bench. “Did Severus Snape ever threaten you?” “He warned me to stop trying to interfere with the Carrows’ methods of discipline.” “And what form did this warning take?” “He said my interference would only make things worse for the students and for myself.” “What did you take him to mean?” “I wasn’t sure.” “And did it persuade you to stop ‘interfering’, as you put it?” “No. Not at the time.” “Thank you, Professor McGonagall.” He paused. “Now, I would like to turn your attention to the evening of …” He consulted his notes for a moment. “ …the first of November, 1997 …” She kept her gaze steady and saw Arthur Weasley hurriedly approach Ogden, speaking quietly in his ear. When Arthur went back to his seat, Ogden told the assembly, “We will break for a few moments while the Council confers. Professor McGonagall, you will please remain seated.” Filius Flitwick performed a Muffliato Charm to allow the Council to speak without being overheard by the spectators, whose murmurs built to a persistent hum that seemed to permeate the room. There were a very few minutes of discussion before Ogden could be seen nodding his head in agreement. Flitwick ended the charm, and Ogden spoke. “We will clear the courtroom of spectators for the remainder of Professor McGonagall’s testimony. I would therefore like to call a ten-minute recess. Witnesses, Council members, please reconvene here at three twenty-five.” Rita Skeeter could be heard above the hubbub, complaining about being shuffled out of the courtroom as the packed spectator benches slowly emptied of people. Harry joined Minerva as they slipped through the door at the back of the room into the area designated for witnesses and court officials. “Would you like some tea, Professor?” he asked. “That would be lovely, thank you, Harry,” she replied, sitting on a long bench as the young man went to a refreshment table in the opposite corner of the room. He returned a few moments later with a cup of weak Irish Breakfast. “Thank you again for doing this, Professor,” he said after handing her tea. “No need to thank me, Harry. It is the right thing to do. You were quite right to insist on the hearing,” she said. “But you didn’t have to testify,” he said. “I know. But after all the other testimony everyone has heard, I think it’s best that they hear the truth from me, don’t you?” she asked. “I know it can’t be easy,” he said. She spent some minutes wondering how Harry would react to the testimony she knew she had yet to give when they were interrupted by Arthur Weasley, who had come in through another door from the courtroom. “We’re reconvening,” he said. “I assume, Arthur, that you were responsible for clearing the courtroom for the rest of my testimony?” she asked, rising. “I thought it might be easier for you, Minerva,” he said quietly. “Thank you,” she said. She had been prepared to say her piece in front of all the spectators, who would, in any event, read the transcript in the Daily Prophet, along with any lurid fancies the Skeeter woman chose to weave, but she had to admit that it was comforting to know that the only eyes watching her would be those of the Council and Harry Potter, who was the only other witness to testify today. They returned to the courtroom and took their positions. Ogden cleared his throat and began. “Now, other witnesses have testified that on the evening of 1 November 1997, you and the rest of the staff and students of Hogwarts were called to a sudden assembly in the Great Hall, is that correct?” “Yes.” “Did you know the purpose of this assembly?” “No.” “And when you entered the Great Hall, what happened?” Minerva described the events that began her ordeal that night. When she described Bellatrix Lestrange removing her clothes with a spell, she could feel the tension in the room shift into acute discomfort. She herself was oddly calm. “And when that occurred, what did you believe was going to happen?” Ogden asked. “I believed I would be raped,” she replied evenly. “And did you know who your assailant would be?” Ogden asked. “No. Not until Voldemort suggested Amycus Carrow to begin with.” She suppressed a shudder. “To begin with?” “Yes. That’s how Voldemort put it, as I recall,” she answered. “And what did you take that to mean?” Ogden asked. “I took it to mean that I would be raped by more than one person,” she answered. She saw Nigella Diggory, who was sitting just behind Ogden, close her eyes and put her face in her hands. “And what happened then?” “Severus Snape intervened. He volunteered himself for the task,” she answered. “And did he … follow through?” Ogden asked. “Yes,” she said. “To a point,” she added. “What do you mean?” “He did not ejaculate.” She saw the councillors exchange shocked looks, which rather amused her, given the testimony they had likely heard about other Dark Revels. “And how … forgive me, Professor … how do you know that?” Ogden asked, obviously pained to have to request such a detail from such a proper witch. “I found no evidence of it on my person. Also, he told me so later.” “You say he told you so?” “Yes.” “When did that occur?” “It was about a week, or a week and a half later.” “And where did this conversation take place?” “In the Headmaster’s office. He had summoned me.” “And you discussed what had happened?” “Yes.” “What was Snape’s attitude?” “He was distraught.” “Over what he had done?” “Yes. He told me he was sorry and that he didn’t mean to harm me.” “And you believed him?” “Not at first, no. But then he showed me the memories—the ones I believe Mr Potter has already shared with you—and told me why he had done it.” “And what reason did he give?” “That he wanted to spare me any additional harm. He thought if he was the one to do it, he could keep the others away, and he could ensure I was not injured,” she said calmly. “And did you believe him then?” “Yes.” “Why?” “After having seen that he was—” she chose her words carefully here “—coerced into the murder by Dumbledore, I concluded that he was not truly a Death Eater after all and that his intentions were honourable. Moreover, I realised at that time that he had done what he could to spare me any pain during the act by performing certain spells before he assaulted me.” “What spells?” “I believe they were the Lubricus and Anestheto Charms.” She was annoyed when she saw Ogden’s face colour. There were a few more questions about the evening and days that followed before the question she had been dreading came up. “Professor, did Severus Snape ever assault you again?” “No. Not exactly.” Ogden frowned. This was clearly not the answer he was expecting. “What do you mean, ‘not exactly’?” “I agreed to allow him to give the appearance of assaulting me.” The councillors gave one another perplexed looks. “Forgive me, but I’m not sure I understand,” Ogden said. “Voldemort had instructed Severus to continue abusing me, partly to try to control me, and partly for his own amusement. I allowed Severus to pretend to assault me, and he carried the memories back to Voldemort.” “When you say he ‘pretended’ to assault you, what do you mean?” “I mean that he engaged in sex acts with me, and we made it seem that it was without my consent.” She heard a gasp from the high bench but wasn’t sure who it had come from. “Are you saying that you did consent?” “Yes. From that point on, Severus never did anything to me without my consent.” The room was silent, except for the low scritching sound of the Quick-Quotes Quill used by the assistant. “But why did you agree?” Ogden said, needing to clear his throat before he spoke. “Because I knew that Severus would be punished if he did not comply with Voldemort’s wishes, and because we believed we could provide misinformation and distraction to him via Severus’s memories.” “And did that indeed occur?” “I believe so. In one instance, Severus was able to use a memory to distract Voldemort long enough to allow Mr Potter and Miss Granger to escape from a trap that he had set.” “This is—forgive me, Professor, but this is extraordinary information,” Ogden said, staring at her intensely. She stared him down. “I realise that. But it’s the truth. And people sometimes do extraordinary things during wartime.” “Did anyone else know about this … arrangement you had with Severus Snape?” “No.” Ogden spoke to Harry. “Mr Potter, please approach the witness chair.” When Harry came forward, Ogden asked, “Mr Potter, are the memories you have shown this Council—those you obtained from Severus Snape at the time of his death—are those the only memories belonging to Snape in your possession?” “Yes,” answered Harry with a touch of hostility in his voice. “So Snape did not provide you with any memories that could corroborate what Professor McGonagall has testified today?” “No.” His voice was full of seething resentment—unnecessary, Minerva thought, but so like the boy. Getting angry on the behalf of others was becoming a specialty of his. She would advise him to curb the impulse, she thought. He would need to parcel out his anger as he processed all that had occurred over the past few years. There was a brief silence. Then Ogden said, “I think it would be wise for the Council to convene briefly. Filius, if you would …” Flitwick cast another Muffliato Charm, glancing at Minerva as he did so; she couldn’t read what was in his small, wizened face. She felt a hand on her shoulder. “Professor,” Harry said very quietly, “I don’t know what to say …” “You needn’t say anything, Harry,” she answered. “It’s all over and done with. And we have survived, have we not?” she asked, forcing herself to give him a small smile. He nodded. When the Council returned its attention to the witnesses, Ogden said, “Professor McGonagall, the Council would like to request that you allow us to view your memories pertaining to this issue.” “No! Why?” Harry shouted, and Minerva put a hand on his arm as she spoke calmly, “That would be acceptable, Mr Ogden.” Harry looked at her with disbelief, and she squeezed his arm to signal to him to stay quiet. “Thank you, Professor McGonagall. I feel compelled to tell you that our request does not signify that any of us believes you are not being truthful in this matter; it is simply that we want to reassure ourselves that your … perspective on Snape’s behaviour and intentions is accurate. You know as well as I do that in stressful circumstances, one’s perspective can be flawed.” The self-important git has a point, Minerva thought. She nodded curtly and said, “I am prepared to provide the memories if someone can procure an appropriate container and return my wand.” As Ogden signalled to the assistant who had been taking notes, she added, “Mr Ogden, I would ask that the memories be returned to me when you are finished viewing them.” “Of course, Professor,” replied Ogden. The assistant approached Minerva with a phial and handed her the wand that she had surrendered, according to established Ministry protocol, when she had entered the courtroom. She nodded her thanks and removed the phial’s stopper. She lifted her wand to her head, drew out the silvery strands of memory, then placed them in the phial and re-stoppered it. She handed it to the nervous assistant, who took it to Ogden. “Thank you, Professor,” he said. “I believe we should adjourn for the day to allow the Council time to view the memories. I would ask you, Professor, to return to this courtroom tomorrow at ten a.m. Mr Potter, you are excused, but we reserve the right to recall you if necessary.” And with that, the Council filed out of the courtroom. “Professor,” said Harry, “you didn’t have to give them your memories.” “It’s fine,” she replied. “I’m not ashamed of anything.” Oh, Harry, she thought, you don’t need to be the world’s defender anymore. Certainly not mine. “No, that’s not what I meant. It’s just … well, it seems very personal,” he remonstrated. “Yes and no,” she said steadily. In truth, it made her a bit ill to think of the Councillors—some of whom she counted as friends—watching what she had done with Severus, but she believed it was the only way they would understand that it had not been some sick game he had played with her for his own pleasure. She had omitted from the memories most of the discussions they had had after they had finished their various scenarios—these were far more personal than the sex, she thought—and of course, the one private memory they had created just before Severus was killed. Now that he was dead, that was hers alone. When she and Harry slipped out the back door to the courtroom to avoid the crowds of people that were no doubt waiting to see them, they found Kingsley Shacklebolt and several Ministry bodyguards waiting for them. “I thought you could use an escort getting out of here,” Kingsley said. “We’ll go up with you, and you can Floo back to Hogwarts, Minerva. Harry, I’ll take you to Number Twelve myself.” “Thank you, Kingsley … Or should I say ‘Minister’?” she said, smiling at him. “I must say, I can’t quite get used to calling one of my former students by that title.” Shacklebolt took her arm. “‘Kingsley’ will do just fine. And it’s nothing compared with getting used to calling you by your given name. You’ll always be ‘Professor McGonagall’ to anyone who’s ever been on the wrong end of one of your dressings down.” “I’ll second that,” said Harry, grinning. When she arrived back at Hogwarts, Filius Flitwick was waiting for her. “Minerva,” he sputtered when she had stepped through the fireplace and into what was now her office. “You were magnificent,” he said. “Hardly, Filius,” she sighed. His effusiveness was tiresome to her. “I’m sorry, I know you must be tired,” he said, noticing her irritation. “I just wanted to tell you that I … Actually, Arthur, Nigella and I all argued against asking for your memories.” “Thank you, Filius, I appreciate that.” She really had no desire to discuss the matter further today, and tomorrow promised to be long and unpleasant. Flitwick paused as if he wanted to say something else but then just said, “Well, good evening, Minerva.” “Good evening, Filius.” As she crossed to the door to her private quarters, Dumbledore’s portrait startled her by asking kindly, “How are you, my dear?” She turned to face it with a wry smile. “How am I? I’m magnificent, of course.” And she swept into her quarters to be alone at last with her thoughts. ← Back to Chapter 17 On to Chapter 19 → Category:Chapters of Because It Is Bitter, and Because It Is My Heart